


Legend Amidst Dust

by airlock



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: I think someone on the nagamas crew read the bit about me favoring rarepairs and just, M/M, Nagamas, Nagamas 2018, but eh! bring it on and save that unlikely #2 seat in the tag for me, started rubbing hands and cackling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 08:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17117948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airlock/pseuds/airlock
Summary: Nagamas 2018 gift. A rather trying day in Michalis's search for the disappeared legend that he'd once loved.





	Legend Amidst Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noahfronsenburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahfronsenburg/gifts).



He can't quite figure out what it is exactly that turned this upcoming activity into the only one he could put some real effort into. Once ambitious and driven, he'd fallen into poverty and obscurity without seeming to mind it nearly as much as anyone would have expected of him -- but for this one matter, he brought it all to bear, the same way he would if he were still in his twenties.

He resolutely stepped down a cramped flight of stairs, off to greet a visitor who awaited in his humble lobby. If there was room for doubt in his mind or his heart, his legs left none, pounding down the steep steps as if to crush an insect with each footfall.

Michalis's eyes narrowed to peer through the flecks of dust in the air, taking stock of the half-lit figure sitting at his table. Long raven-colored hair, in the middle of the process of graying. Naturally sharp facial features, which seemed to have lost some of their edge to the loosening and wrinkling of the skin around them, but could still be the same ones he'd remembered from back when.

"So... You claim to be Navarre, the Scarlet Swordsman."  
"What service do you require?"  
Dodging the subject was suspicious, but the Navarre he remembered would hate to linger on whether he's the real article. One way or another, whoever it was sitting across him would have to put up with the interrogatory yet longer. "You expect me to take that claim at face value? Pah. What sort of fool do you take me for?"  
"If you have doubt about my skills, allow me to prove them." The mercenary began to draw a sword off a scabbard by his waist.  
"Put that away. Any cur can swing swords at unmoving objects." Although it had become frailer, Michalis's voice was no less commanding after all the decades past. "The real Navarre has a scar running down his shoulder. Don't make me look for it."  
"If it means we can end this nonsense..."

Navarre unclasps his tunic and brushes aside his sleeve in swift motions. His shoulder comes out for a peek, damaged skin running a straight line downwards through it -- and as Michalis had been stealthily hoping to confirm, beneath said skin remained the supple muscles.  
"Is that enough?"  
"Where did you get that scar, anyway?"  
"Run-in with bandits in Samsooth. It was a long time ago." Michalis had no way to confirm or deny it. "Now then, if we're done with this..."  
"We are not. Navarre -- if you really are him -- there's something else I must know. Do you remember me?"  
He seemed to be struggling to, for a moment, with his head slowly tilting side to side. "... I don't usually remember employers and colleagues for a long time. ... Or dalliances, for that matter."  
"Dalliances...?"

That was certainly what Michalis and Navarre once were, for a short length of the calendar; one which had been marked by a mutual understanding, wary secrecy, and an end brought about by happenstance, earlier than any of the involved had hoped for. But Michalis never figured himself for the kind of person who is easy to forget -- he had at least that much going for him, or so he thought.

"That can't be right..."

Could it? Those so-called dalliances had stuck fervently to Michalis's memory; they had meant that much for him. But if they had also meant that much less to the person he'd made them with, to the point that they'd become a colorless blur lost among many others...

"... Well, enough of that. If you have a job for me, I would hear it."

And yet, the doubts were not yet cleared to satisfaction -- and the identity of the mercenary across the table had become, besides all else, a matter of pride. Internally swearing on his honor to decisively prove legitimate or fake as it happens to be, Michalis trawled his mind for another test, one that could settle the issue for good. A restless pulse coursed through him; it may have been meant for his thoughts, but his body responded before any sort of thinking could take place.

Venting air between his clenched teeth, Michalis reached across the table, making squeaks and clicks on the worn wood with his reckless surge of motion. His grip clenched onto fabric over Navarre's chest. His hands quivered, from age and nervousism, but they refused to falter. He pulled back the mystery person, bringing the two face to face. And then, a sloppy kiss.

Navarre was caught off guard for a beat, but recovered smoothly as he reciprocated the kiss. His tongue was as deft as his blade... and that was when Michalis figured something out about just who he was dealing with.

"You fucking ASSHOLE! You're not Navarre!"

The king-that-was shoved the mercenary-that-was-not with much the same force as he'd pulled him in; a little more and the flung body might have flipped over the chair behind. Instead, the chair was driven standing into the ground, pounding the floorboards with a dramatic screech.

"So, let me guess... past dalliance?"  
"What sort of buffoon would be willing to make out just to pass for Navarre?!"  
"It's all part of the job. See, they say the Scarlet Swordsman has one legendary list of loved-and-lost behind him! From paupers to nobles and possibly even kings." Possibly! Michalis flinched as discreetly as his fury permitted. "There's a lot of money in getting used to that sort of thing, too!"  
"You don't fucking say."  
"What gave it away, anyhow?"  
"You've got a lot of work to do if you want to fake the taste of somebody else's mouth. That, and Navarre had no patience for subtlety or foreplay or, well, kissing. If he'd gone and gotten any better at even that while I wasn't around..." Then Michalis could have felt even lower yet. "... Why am I even telling you all of this, anyway? Get out of my house."  
"Well, okay, look! So the cat's out of the bag and I'm not really Navarre, but I bet you can tell I'm as good as the real thing, so seriously, let's talk about that job-"  
"OUT! Or is there anything about this place that makes it look like I can actually afford a mercenary?"  
Not-Navarre happened to glance just as a spider recoiled away from a drop of water leaking from the roof. "Huh. So this is-"  
"A waste of everyone's time by now. Just... get out."

No longer mindful of the stranger, Michalis laid his arms onto the table and sunk his head into them. That damned sellsword! Most of his impostors can be dismissed at a glance, but every now and then, one turns up whose guise is built to last long enough to bring hopes up for a fleeting moment. But it was never to be -- Navarre disappeared into visibility, and those who pursued him had nothing to follow but a trail of legends.

What convinces Michalis to stay in this pursuit, again and again, is not just fondness for the times that had passed him by. It's that he refuses, at all costs, to acknowledge that he has been surpassed by the one he loved.

**Author's Note:**

> so the prompt for this was "forty years later, navarre is still a legend. michalis? not so much."; fortunately, the prospect of getting nerd sniped by the implications of forty years passing from canon was just as daunting as it was tempting, so I kept it simple and straight to the point, which is pointing at Michalis and laughing-


End file.
